


limasawa street

by aftersome



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aftersome/pseuds/aftersome
Summary: Loving Sakusa Kiyoomi was a muscle memory he couldn't unlearn.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 15
Kudos: 150





	limasawa street

Atsumu feels like an idiot. There, he stands, on the foot of a small hill a few yards behind the old gym on Limasawa Street he used to go to with his teammates, lips pursed and warmth in his cheeks. His feet brings him to the old but still functional bench under the lamp post by the base of the hill. He takes a seat, one leg on top of the other to form a sideways triangle with his lower limbs.

The light casts a shadow on the empty space next to him. He sighs, heart sinking into the pores of his skin as if shying away from the world that once harmed it. Like that of a turtle retreating back to its shell, he feels himself curl into a ball of self-pity and nothingness. He wants to turn his flesh inside out so he wouldn't have to look at the ugly truth of reality. He wants to squeeze his brain into mush, beat it into a pulp, and shove it into a blender where he can see it being torn apart. Maybe even get a smoothie afterwards.

He can't do anything drastic like that, though. So he opts for sitting in silence, on the bench they shared their first kiss, under the same lamp post he told Sakusa Kiyoomi he loved him, wallowing in his misery.

He puts an arm on the backrest. There was a time when his arm would have meet the firm back of his lover. Now all he feels is the coolness of the crisp lonely evening breeze kissing his skin in places a pair of lips tucked behind a surgical mask used to.

Longing is like magma. It's tethered to your core, bubbling just beneath the surface, rising slowly, until it erupts and spills out of you at times you don't expect it to. And when it does erupt: a hot mess of lava and smoke and chaos, burnt down houses and dying trees, remnants of what had been and what could have become, a rainfall of ash and dust in the wake of a disaster.

And the thing with Atsumu is that he's an active volcano.

No matter how many times he erupts, the magma never seems to run out, always bubbling and rising from within him, hidden in the shadows so when he thinks it's no longer there, it suddenly pounces to surprise him. He doesn't fall dormant after an eruption, doesn't have a second to rest. The longing is like second skin; unnecessary, but it's something he can't seem to get rid of.

An indescribable pain crawls out of his ribcage, like flowers sprouting from the ground, like lava leaking from the side of a volcano. He grips at his shirt over his chest, wrinkling the fabric. There are tears at the corners of his eyes, and he doesn't stop them when they fall on the empty space beside him, where Sakusa used to sit.

Atsumu feels like an idiot. There, he sits, on the old but still functional bench under the lamp post by the foot of the hill a few yards behind the old gym on Limasawa Street he used to go to with his teammates, teeth biting down his lower lip to keep himself from crying out, salty liquid running down his cheeks and dread in the pit of his stomach.

**—**

"Omi-kun, have you ever gone to the beach before?" The back of Atsumu's head was pressed against Sakusa's belly, the side of his face on Sakusa's lap. He could feel the masked man gingerly play with his bleached hair.

The old but functional bench was too short for too-tall athlete Atsumu, so he was forced to hug his knees to his chest, but his feet still spilled out of the side of the bench.

"Once," Sakusa said, voice muffled behind his surgical mask. "I don't like it. The sand gets everywhere and the area around my mouth behind my mask gets too sweaty under the sun."

Atsumu smiled. He liked it when he could make Sakusa chatty like this. The most other people could usually get from the closed off man was two or three words, max.

He shifted so his back was against the seat of the bench. The open sky above him was like a breath of fresh air. There was something about it that made him feel free, even if he was just lying on the bench, knees propped up because his legs wouldn't fit, his boyfriend carefully stroking his hair.

He switched his gaze to Sakusa.

From the moles that lined above his eye to the curls of his carefully parted raven black hair — the man was gorgeous. And even more so with the blue and white backdrop of the heavens behind his head, the green of the hill behind them peeking from the bottom corner of Atsumu's vision.

"Maybe you'll like it better when you go with me," Atsumu said playfully. He resisted the urge to reach up and caress the strands Sakusa's hair.

"No, I think that would make it worse." His tone was mean, but his eyes gave away a twinkle of mischief that made Atsumu weak in the knees.

"I hate you," Atsumu said, a small smile dancing on his lips like a waltz, a whisper of amusement pulling at his cheeks.

"Stop stealing my lines."

Atsumu sat up and stretched his legs. "Can I kiss you?" The question leaves his tongue in a rush. He felt like a high school boy asking his crush for a kiss. Not that that wasn't the case, minus the high school part. But still... he felt silly that he was flustered after asking his boyfriend for a kiss.

"Took you three weeks," Sakusa muttered.

"I didn't think you were one for intimate displays of affection!" Atsumu defended. "And I respect that— wait, were you waiting for me to ask?"

Sakusa doesn't answer. If his cheeks were blushing, Atsumu couldn't tell. But he could see the pink-tainted tips of Sakusa's ears from where he sat.

"Aw, is Omi-kun a shy little boy~?"

"Shut up and kiss me, Miya."

"As you wish, sir~"

**—**

Lately, there has not been a day where Atsumu doesn't go to that place by the hill. The place made the pain less unbearable, for some reason he doesn't know. Maybe it's weird to find comfort in the place you called home with another after breaking up with them, but Atsumu doesn't care. Or maybe it is just an excuse for him to surround himself in traces of Sakusa, to get a feel for him even when he's long gone.

It's been a year since the incident, but the pain Atsumu has been feeling did not subside, not even a little. Sometimes, his busy life allows him to forget, for a few moments of activity, that he no longer has a partner.

Sometimes, it slips: making too much breakfast in the morning with no one to share it with, turning to someone who isn't there when he finds something funny, calling out "I'm home," to an empty apartment, leaning his head to the side while watching a movie and being caught by nothing but air and vacant space, absent-mindedly waiting for Sakusa to finish showering after practice, only to be jolted awake when he walks past without a glance.

 _Does this happen to Sakusa too?_ he often wonders, in those times he forgets he was left alone.

Is it his fault for loving too much and receiving too little? Maybe he is in the wrong for offering himself to Sakusa in the first place, for asking Sakusa to give him a chance when the other man was clearly in love with someone else.

Is it a crime to love someone the way Atsumu does Sakusa? Perhaps not. Perhaps the crime is the way he deluded himself into believing that he could make Sakusa forget. What he didn't know, back then, is that love could never unlearn. It could never unlearn the way lips meet skin, the way the mouth fits so perfectly in the crook of their neck, just above the collarbone. It could never unlearn the peppered kisses trailing from the throat to the chest, making its way to the hardened stomach. It could never unlearn the feel of a palm against another, fingers interlacing, and the way it made the heart beat in odd rhythms.

That held true for Sakusa then, and it holds true for Atsumu now.

Maybe Sakusa did love Atsumu, just not in the way Atsumu needed. Maybe there was that tiny spark of affection, that lingering sensation that made Sakusa think _Ah, I don't mind him at all._

Atsumu pauses, leg freezing in mid-bounce.

 _Ah_.

Perhaps that was where the problem started: Atsumu settling for the bare minimum and thinking that Sakusa's ' _I don't mind him_ ' meant the same as his ' _I love him_.'

He lets loose a bitter laugh. "It was a game I couldn't win," he says sorely, mildly amused at his own stupidity. "Ever since it started, I already lost. Ha, I probably already lost before it even began."

Perhaps Sakusa only pitied him, that night he was drunk and begged for a chance. Perhaps Sakusa only humored him to make him stop because he had been embarrassing.

Atsumu leans sideways and lets his back fall on the seat of the bench, feet curled, hugging his knees to his chest, hating himself for wishing he could look up and see Sakusa's beautiful face against the backdrop of the night sky once more.

**—**

Sakusa looked grossed out.

At the after party of the Black Jackals fan event, Atsumu was drunk out of his mind, and he was fairly certain he wouldn't remember anything the day after.

"Tsum-tsum!" Bokuto's voice was loud and booming. He let out a laugh, mangled and slightly hysterical. "You're insane!"

"I'm drunk!" Atsumu announced. He was sweaty and warm, face red with the fuzzy bliss of alcohol. He giggled, swaying sideways with an arm around Bokuto, free hand holding a bottle of gin.

"Please put that bottle down, Miya," Meian said, almost exasperated. He pinched the bridge of his nose lightly. "I came here to get drunk, not babysit. Have mercy on me."

"Loosen up, Meian-san," Atsumu said, slurring. His eyes were glazed and unfocused, and his grin was sloppy and drunken. "Let's get wasted!"

Beside him, Bokuto cheered.

"You're wasted enough," Meian said with finality. "Give me the bottle, you might drop it."

Atsumu pouted. Then, as if a brilliant (usually not) idea struck him, he grinned and took a swig from the gin bottle. Except he never stopped. He drank and drank and drank until he drained the bottle, _then_ handed it to Meian.

Hinata laughed at him, downing his own glass and pouring himself another. "Slow down, Tsumu-san. You're not one to handle your alcohol well."

"Is that a challenge, Shoyo-kun?" Atsumu dared.

"No!" Hinata exclaimed. He was concerned for his upperclassman's wellbeing, but still highly amused, hiding his urge to laugh behind stifled smiles.

"Leave him be," Sakusa said. "If he dies of alcohol poisoning, it won't be much of a loss. In fact, that would be reason to celebrate."

Feigning a gasp, Atsumu untangled himself from Bokuto and jumped on Sakusa, pressing his face as close as he could. "You wound me, Omi-kun," he said.

Sakusa pushed his face away gingerly, features contorted into a grimace. "Get off me, Miya."

"How awful of you, Omi-kun," Atsumu said dramatically, getting off Sakusa's lap and sitting beside him. "However shall I cope? I might actually die."

"Good."

Bokuto laughed at that, making Atsumu's head snap towards him. "Hey, Bokkun! Why are you laughing?" he complained. "You're supposed to be on my side!"

"You look pathetic, Miya-san," supplied Shion.

"I have never been more offended."

"Drink this, Atsumu-san," Hinata offered, nudging a glass of water towards Atsumu.

Atsumu took it after a murmur of petty complaints, downing it in one go. "Shoyo-kun, you're the only one that I love."

Hinata raised an eyebrow at that, glancing at Sakusa for a split second, then brushing the comment off with a grin. "Someone has to do it."

"Get him sober as much as you can, Hinata," Sakusa grumbled. "So I don't have to take him home again."

"Oh dear," Atsumu said, smirking. "What a shame it would be if Atsumu started drinking again."

"Don't you dare, Miya."

Atsumu grabbed another bottle from the table and stsrtes drinking. "Oops."

He didn't know what made him do it. Maybe it was spite, the constant urge to be petty. Maybe he just wanted to annoy the other guy. Or maybe a small part of him wanted to be brought home by Sakusa.

Whatever it was, it was enough for him to get rid of the sobriety that was starting to take hold of him and got drunk once more. Bokuto cheered and the two of them wreaked havoc among the team.

When it was time to head home, Sakusa was, once again, forced to bring Atsumu home as they lived fairly close to each other, only a bus ride away from each other's apartments.

"God, fuck you, Miya," Sakusa muttered as he helped Atsumu up the elevator grumpily. "I told you not to drink again. Fucking idiot."

"How else can I get Omi-kun to take me home then?" Atsumu said with a lazy grin. His eyes were unfocused and zoned out, the entirety of his face buried under pink tint.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Sakusa said. The elevator door opened, and he hauled Atsumu out. "Keys," he said when they stood in front of Atsumu's apartment door.

"Back pocket..." Atsumu mumbled. "Maybe. I don't know."

"Jesus, you're a mess," said Sakusa, patting Atsumu's backside for the keys, making the drunk man giggled. "What are you laughing about?"

"Omi-kun is touching my butt."

"I hate you." When Sakusa was finally able to retrieve the key, he inserted it into the lock and pushed open the door, searching for the switch with his free hand. He brought Atsumu to his room, left the key on the nightstand, dumped him on the bed and headed to the bathroom to wash his hands.

"Omi-kun..." he heard Atsumu call out.

"What?" he barked back.

Atsumu dragged himself to the bathroom and found Sakusa standing by the sink, shaking his hands to dry them. "You don't trust my hand towel?"

"Knowing you, that thing probably hasn't been washed in a year," Sakusa retorted. He'd lost his handkerchief on the way, and he didn't want to wipe his hands with his clothes.

"Hey, it's only been a month!"

Sakusa made a face. "Where's your toilet paper?"

"In the cabinet under the sink," Atsumu said with a yawn. "Use the new ones; I'm sure you don't trust the one by the toilet either."

"Good call," Sakusa said, reaching for the toilet paper. "Why did you call me?"

"I don't know." Atsumu was still drunk, and he didn't know what he was doing. All he knew was that he wanted Sakusa to be the last face he sees before the living daylights get knocked out of him.

"If there's nothing else I'm going to go now. Go back to bed," Sakusa said as he pushed past him to leave the bathroom after throwing the used toilet paper in the garbage bin.

"Give me a chance, Omi-kun," Atsumu said before he could stop himself. "Maybe you'll learn to love me back."

Sakusa blinked once, surprised. "You're drunk," he decided. "Go back to bed, get some sleep. I'm leaving."

"No!" Atsumu said, grabbing Sakusa by the arm. "I know you know that I love you, Omi. And I know that you love Ushijima-kun. But if you could just give me a chance—"

"You don't know what you're saying," Sakusa said sharply. "Stop this. You're drunk."

"Yeah, I'm drunk, but that doesn't change the way I feel!" Atsumu said, voice raising to a shout. "That doesn't change the fact that I've been madly in love with you for a year now!"

"Shut up. Keep your voice down," Sakusa said. He looked mildly agitated, but social cues didn't register to an intoxicated man who had downed two more bottles of gin.

"Give me a chance, Omi-kun." Atsumu's voice dropped, barely above a whisper. His eyes were pleading and desperate. He spoke with such emotion that Sakusa couldn't help but look away. "Let me love you, and I'll make you forget. I'll make you forget the years of affection gone to waste. I'll make you forget you even knew his name."

"Funny you say that," said Sakusa, "when you're not even going to remember this in the morning."

"I will," Atsumu promised with conviction. "I will. Give me your yes now, and you can have me until you say no."

"I'm an asshole, Miya, but even I can't do this to you." Sakusa's eyebrows were furrowed and bunched together in frustration. "What the hell are you even on about?"

"Give me a chance, Sakusa," Atsumu said. "I swear, you won't regret it. I swear to make you forget him." He reached for Sakusa's gloved hand, entwining their fingers. "Give me this," he said. "Just this once. Give me this."

Sakusa was silent for a moment, and Atsumu, in his drunken, barely standing state, feared he would say no. "Okay," he said. His voice came out garbled and small, so he cleared his throat. "Okay," he repeated.

**—**

Loving Sakusa Kiyoomi is a muscle memory he couldn't unlearn. It is an instinct, an intuition, his second nature. It's as inherent as breathing, as natural as his attraction to volleyball is congenital. It's the only thing that makes sense to him, and it's what sometimes helped him stay grounded in places he didn't have proper footholds.

But sometimes that predisposition can be toxic and harder to control when the person you love is suddenly no longer there.

Sunday morning. 6 o'clock. He has just finished his early jog. Popping his AirPods out of his ears, he makes his way to the old gym he and the boys used to go to, heading straight for the hill a few yards behind it. He sees two people on the bench and is about to chase them off when he realizes who they are.

Atsumu feels like he's looking at himself and Sakusa from a year ago, except Ushijima is in his place instead.

"Ushijima-kun, have you ever gone to the beach before?" Sakusa asks, back slumped low on backrest, gloved hand lazily draped on Ushijima's. He's staring at the blur and white of the sky. The black of his curls is still as beautiful as the one Atsumu sees in his dreams.

"Once," Ushijima replied, voice deep and straightforward. "I don't like it. The sand gets everywhere, and it's too hot."

There is a mask that covers half of Sakusa's face, but Atsumu knows he is smiling behind it. "Yeah," Sakusa says. "Me too."

It's all too cruel. Sakusa probably doesn't remember, and perhaps it's simply another vague memory to him that made him feel compelled to ask the question Atsumu had asked him a year ago, but it just isn't fair.

In the two years that they had been together, where — truly, and in all sense of the word — was Atsumu? When they kissed, had Sakusa been thinking of Ushijima instead? When Sakusa cooked them a meal, had he been thinking of sharing it with Ushijima instead?

Atsumu is not all that innocent either. It had been his fault, his drunken mistake, a moment of weakness in the absence of sobriety, the inevitable byproduct of inebriation and years of longing. All those times he hid his unrequited sentiments behind a scumbag front had led to that pivotal moment, the point of no return that had been the cause of his downfall.

Atsumu tries to slip away quietly, but he cannot escape Ushijima's quick eye. They hold each other's gaze for a brief moment, before Ushijima looks away like nothing happened.

He jogs back, through the trail that led to the hill, past the old gym in Limasawa Street they used to go to, and onto the main road. Mind reeling from what he had just seen, he pops his AirPods back into his ears to try and drown out the rush of blood in his body, the wind knocked out of his lungs, and the painful clenching in his chest that made him want to rip his own heart out, smash his ribcage, and bash his head in.

He can't help: the tears that escape his eyes as he jogs back home, his small drops of blood after he ripped open the flesh of his trembling lips from biting them down too hard, the ache that seemed to throb from all part of his body from all directions, crushing him from both the inside and the outside.

He doesn't stop crying even when he got home. It's the opposite, in fact: there are too many things in the apartment that reminded him of Sakusa — from the coffee table he used to put his feet on as he ignored Sakusa's constant berating to the specific shirt Sakusa always borrowed whenever he came over. There is the couch they huddled on to watch movies on the shitty laptop Atsumu never found the time to replace, the bed they made love — was that even the right term? — on after a heated make-out session and a glass of wine, the book Sakusa read to Atsumu after his insistence and incessant whining, the multi-purpose liquid cleaner Sakusa gave him so "he could learn to clean after himself."

His sobs turn into half-murmured sniffs, hair disheveled and unruly as he sits on the floor of his bedroom. As if in a daze, he walks to his bathroom, turns on the sink, and splashes water to his face.

 _This is going to take time_ , he thinks. _Healing will take time._

After all, loving Sakusa Kiyoomi is a muscle memory he has yet to unlearn.

And there is nothing he can do but hope that one day, no matter how long it would take, that instinct would fade into just another memory, and not one his muscles were used to, until it is completely forgotten and out of sight, until he doesn't make extra breakfast in the morning with no one to share it with anymore, until he doesn't absent-mindedly wait for Sakusa to finish showering after practice anymore, until it no longer aches when he goes to the bench by the foot of the hill behind the old gym in Limasawa Street, until the longing isn't magma but instead a hearth with a flame he could control.

Until he no longer thinks of love and Sakusa Kiyoomi as the same things.

**Author's Note:**

> hellooo~! haha thank you for reading! if you want to reach me, i'm @msbykuroo on twitter!


End file.
